Death Race: Redemption
by Chaser Red Productions
Summary: When a getaway driver is convicted and sent to Terminal Island Penitentiary Prison, he must dawn the mask of the infamous Frankenstein in the new Death Race Inferno.


2012\. Eight years since the global market collapsed on itself. There were riots in the streets, outbreaks in prison were out of control, and nothing could be reserved. Private corporations took control of the situation, so now they hold an increasing 93% of the global market through use of the correctional facilities all around the world. Terminal Island was the biggest share, hosting the infamous Death Race. However, on that same year the corporation that hosted this event recieved a fatal event. To this, they decided to change the rules of the game. The Inferno Death Race was born

The firing of a gattling gun sounded the entire track as a steel metal armor plated Z10 Camaro took a corner to the right, the weapon firing into the rear of another armored car. The bullets fired began to pierce the armor of the car, hitting the fueltank and igniting it.

The enemy car was engulfed in flames, and mere moments later flipped itself into forward into a guard rail in a fiery explosion. The driver of the Camaro grinned while looking back on his dirt blonde Co-pilot. "One down, three to go..."

The armored Camaro sped down the dirt path it was on, onto a main cement road, the tires screeching as the driver made the turn.

On the main road was a Dodge Plymouth Roadrunner in rusted gunmetal gray with two SMG Semi-Automatics on the left side of the hood. By its side was an armored Dodge Challenger Hellcat with an M60 Rambo machine gun in both turn signal lights. Behind them both was the notorious black and red Ford Mustang, riddled with holes in the rear armor.

"We're almost there..." the Notorious Frankenstein said as he sped behind the Plymouth, pressing the red button on the steering while and firing his hood mounted machine gun into the rear of the Roadrunner. A bullet cracked through the bullet proof glass in the back, shooting the driver between the eyes, and causing his navigator to scream. The car swerved off the track into the dirt, before ramming itself into a pole.

The driver of the Challenger, a man with a scratched up black mouth mask and LED goggles, laughed out as he looked back at his navigator, who was currently limp with several bullet holes in his stomach, legs and chest. His laughed died down, and he gave a low growl as he shifted gears.

Frankenstein drove behind the Challenger, with the Camaro on his rear, the gatling gun on the hood of the Zl1 spinning.

"This is insane! You need to fall back!" the passenger of the Mustang shouted at the driver, who pressed the red button on the steering wheel, the machine guns on the hood spinning until 38. Caliber bullets shot out into the rear armor of the Challenger.

"Dammit!" the LED mask driver swore, shifting from fourth gear to fifth in order to gain distance from the pack. All the while, Frankenstein just laughed, unknowingly shooting through the corpse of a dead passenger. "That's it, Franken-Freak!" he shouted, hitting the control buttons near the shiftier.

"It's too much heat! You're gonna get us both killed!" shouted the female passenger of Frankenstein, who only stayed focus on his fire on the racer in front.

"Hold on to something." the masked driver stated. He pulled on the E-brake and swiftly moved the steering wheel to the right,causing the back tires to halt and the car to swerve out the way of the Camaro as it fired its 48. Caliber bullets. At the same time the Challenger dropped a small metal box, that extended into a spikestrip. Before the Camaro had a chance to move, it ran over the strip, cutting a hole through the tires, along with getting the metal stuck between the fenders and tires. The muscle car lost control, going to its side before tumbling onto its roof and into a light pole, knocking it down. Jacob Smith was dead.

"Okay...Nice one, Frank." his Navigator complimented. "Now what?"

"This is the final lap. One more turn and we win." he replied, shifting gears from fourth to fifth. The makeshift speedometer hit 170 mph, and he was neck and neck with the last driver.

"No you don't, Frankie!" The masked driver screamed out, putting his petal to the metal as he inched ahead. Frankenstein saw this, and steered into the Challenger to knock it away. The opposing car kept its ground, steering into the Mustang.

"Wakey Wakey Frankie!" he shouted to the Monster.

"A quarter mile after this turn! Make it count!" the Navigator stated, as both drivers downshifted and yanked the E-brake, skidding around the corner before they slammed down the gas.

Both muscle cars became neck and neck, both reaching 150 on the makeshift speedometers. The driver of the Mustang looked over to his navigator. "Hit the Nitro." he said. She nodded, reaching to the back of the drivers seat and twisting the knob on the tank of nitrous. Frankenstein hit the red button on the shfiter, injecting 250 horsepower worth of nitrous oxide through the engine.

The Mustang inched ahead, just a few hundred yards from the line. The driver of the Challenger steered away, letting him take the win, until...

The fender of the Challenger slammed into the rear side of the Mustang,and with the power of the rear wheels, was knocked into the air before rolling onto the the concrete road.

The driver of the downed car growled, hitting the steel enforced door with all his strength, but not making a dent. The passenger struggled with her seatbelt, but unfastened herself and fell onto her back, looking at Frank. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah..." He tried to get free of the seatbelt, but couldn't. It was jammed. He just gave up. That's when they heard the roar of an engine. They both recognized it. The Challenger.

The driver of the Challenger revved the V8, like he was a bull at a red flag. "You're mine Franken-Freak!" He slammed his foot on the gas, his wheels spinning as he moved towards the flipped Monster.

"Oh god, no!" The woman screamed, kicking at the steel door. No budge.

The Demon Challenger sped up towards the Mustang, the reinforced rollbar aimed directly at the side, before it was slammed into.

* * *

A red and black Shelby Mustang GT500 drove up to a sidewalk corner, with the driver gripping the wheel as the V8 growled lowly. The driver looked at the corner of his dashboard, seeing picture of his wife and baby, from years ago.

A sigh left him, before the passenger door opened and three people made their way into the muscle car. The driver put on his sunglasses, driving off and taking a turn at traffic speeds.


End file.
